[COMPLETED] The Vixen and The Thief

Chapter 14

Conn walked along the stone carved tunnels with the silent stealth of years. The way was well known to him, leading as it did into the upper regions of the mountain fortress, a place where the passages, narrow and neglected, wound and wandered like the branching twigs of a winter tree.

His feet found their way slowly, and unaided, for his mind was deep in another place.

Life. That was what they dwelt on, his thoughts. The rich savour of it. A taste and value only appreciated for a moment before death. Or before battle. It was such a moment that had drawn him to flee from the battlefield two - or was it more? - years ago. Conn could excuse himself that - almost.

But what followed he found harder to defend.

A traitor, that was what he was, a betrayer of his own foster-kin. They would never have taken him back, no one would have. What choice had he had, but to take up with An Beitheach? It was a free life, plenty of good things or every form. He had fought with him - a few times. No more than he could have helped.

But he could never fully drown his deeds in justification. Even among An Beitheach's men they knew him as a coward. About the only vice which they still abhorred. He knew himself as a coward too, much as he tried to bury the feeling beneath the weight of anger at the family he had left behind.

And now Beibhinn knew him for one too.

He did not know why it mattered to him, what she thought. He had driven her to tears of furious rage in the past, yesterday he had merely done it once more. But in the past, the matter had always been trivial. There had always been reconciliation, and often, on Beibhinn's part, well timed vengeance.

Conn made a face at some old memories which resurfaced.

He missed the An Chlann Ó'Bhriain, that was the long and short of it, and there was no point denying the fact to himself. Of course he knew that they must despise his very name now... Perhaps that was why Beibhinn's scorn yesterday ahd cut so deep. He had seen what he had always feared - there was no way that he could ever return to them.

The air began to grow gradually warmer. The path levelled out and ran straight for a short distance before dividing in three. The middle path - which he was on - continued on a level but began to curl to the right, the left passage plunged startlingly down, strong icy draughts drifting from it, as though it penetrated the depths of the earth.

Conn stopped and listened. Away down the narrow right hand tunnel came faint murmurs of voices. A burst of chat, then a silence, then a further hum of talk.

So An Beitheach had her up in the topmost chambers. He had thought that to be so, having asked about. Afraid of her escape, he had set a guard upon the door, until he should find it convenient to go up there himself. Perhaps he just wanted his prisoner to feel fear. Sickly apprehension for his amusement.

Conn balled his fists. Would he not love to strike An Beitheach across the face! The fear he felt for himself faded somewhat.

In all their games of childhood, in all the coarse jesting of brothers, Beibhinn had always stood somewhat aloof from them in such moments. And when he had met her now again, she had seemed like to a gem of ice - pure and possessed of some curious flame. An Beitheach had no right to harm her.

So he would not. Conn would see to it. If it were the only thing he ever did for the Ó'Bhriains.

It will probably be the last, he thought ruefully. An Beitheach would see him as a traitor too. And then he was truly alone. For the men of the mountain knew how to deal with traitors...

Stealthily he made his way down the right hand passage, pausing now and again to listen. The talking had stopped, but there was a fairly rapid thud, thud, thud coming from somewhere near at hand. He progressed even more slowly, carefully placing the toe of his foot to the ground first and keeping out of the torchlight. What was that thumping noise? It had begun to bother him. Could it be someone further up the passage or....?